The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1887-12-14
IN MY DARKEST HOUR.
BY PATIENCE STAPLEToN.

BY PATIENCE STAPLEToN.
l had worked so long in the,dry good;
store of Jones & Jones that when,
Christmas morning, got letter saying
that my services were no longer required
nearly tainted away. l know l am not
quick or attractive. am small, scared
looking woman of forty, and have
worked SO hard all my life that | look
much older. / lost my little savings in
the failure of bank, and since then
have Lad no ambition to look well or to
be cheerful. When | went back to my
third story room-for l ran down at the
postnan's knock, thinking some of my
kindred might have remembered mc-I
had faint feeling of pleasurablc excite.
ment. The firm had remembered me,
thought when | saw their letter head,
and sent me a remembrance. 81 have
livcdtoo long" said, when read their
letter. | could not think Of another SEN
tence, and the words haunted me.
NV laudlady was kind, but she was
poor, and her rent was high, and l must
give up my little room chat from long
occupancy had grown to look upon as u
home. stood in the door AND looked
about meat the worn carpet, the shabby
furniture, the little old rocking chair
that my few visitors used to say had a
quaint likeness TO myself, the stove where
/ had cooked my frugal breakfast and
supper so many years, my bird twittering
in his cage over my geraniuns in the
sunny windoW--the plants ali in bios
som now and SO beautiful few books
and pictures and the gray at purring by
the fire. / saw my trunk in its chintz
cover, and I wondered when l must pack
it and where it would go. l had borne
up well, but now l sat down on the floor
and wcpt bitterly
''kin come in, Miss JancW
jumped 10 my feet in shame. The
child must not see me crying on Christ
may day. Iopcrcd til" door and there
stood Betty. the orphan granddaughter
of my landlady Betty Prim," the
dodgers called her. She was pale little
thing, with big gray eyes and old
on children nowadays, She was lame
from fall in baby hood and walked
with crutch. She never seemed to note
her misfortune, but, like my canary, was
'ull OF song and sunshine.
''Uamma says if you don't want me
send me down. She's goin' ter church
-n'it's pretty lonesome an you wasn't
poin' out. III try TO be real quiet"
"You couldn't be otherwise" l said,
and got her a chair. Of course she took
the cat in her laj,--she always pctted
so,nething--a then she told ne how
many g;f:s she had and how the white
aprons made her were the best of all,
for they were 81 pretty and ''su' h a sav-
ing to her dresses She had given me
q neat little tidy that she had made her
self, and she looked at it now, pinned on
my chair, with visible satisfaction.
"There was some stitches dropped, but
I'm so glal they don't show," she said,
happily Miss Jane" she asked, after
= long pause, during which I, stunned
by my great trouble, sat and looked at
nothing, 'you're like me, I guess; you
.sin't got many folks"
came back with start to tell her l
had eight brothers and sisters that had
not seen for thirty years. They were in
Califot ria, I in Boston. ! was the oldest,
and family had taken me when | was
nine yeats Old, for my father was 50
poor he could not keep his children to-
gether.
"TeIl me bout EN-" she said. THAT
is if you'd Jest as iie,c. guess you've
got the megrims ter, day; that's what
Mis- 80: rison has that lives in the second
floor front. she says yho gifts mcgrims so
bad she can't cat bite. get 'cm my
seli, but don't tc! no one, for I've got
tel keep Gamma chccrcd up. She gets so
down when BE rooms is empty or some
one don't pay her,"
The dear, little soul ut seven coDccaling
her own childish troubles to make life
brighter for others! SO went on and
told her of my childhood and how, poor
as we were, We children remembered each
other at birthday and Christmas time,
making gifts out Of a scanty store and
giving up to younger brother or siStc:
cherished plaything$, and how my most
happy remembrance was the giving the
paper dolls had laboriously saved and
cut out from the few fashion plates that
ever invaded our home TO 4 little sister.
remember one Christmas day though
when I had no gifts. In September
father and the family moved away to the
West in big white ov,red wagon drawn
by our old farm oxen, and l, crying
and begging to 90 with thcm, was
taken ID cart to Aunt Bcach's, who
lived forty miles from my old home. ]
was only nine years old, but to this day
remember the sccne. the strange wagon,
the oxen, all the people como to say
good-bve, the children rccring at the
tent curtains aud envying my Nidc-cyed
little brothers and sisters who were going
away, our empty disnantl d home and
mother crying over my brother and me.
He was left W tn & cousin and died two
years alterward. AZ Bcach's there weGc
three little children and | took ca,c of
them AMI helped about tie house. They
thought they treated me kindly, AM
never was wfirrcd or abused, but
starved; for love an,l air;tion. At Christ.
mas time there was lot even mention of
the day, no gifts nor good dinner. |
recollect Uncle Beach sawed wood ali
day. and we had corncd beef for dinner.
Their. wns no nir,!tmaking nor hollda!
time at the Beaches home. made the
children some corncob dolls for gifts,
and Mrs. Beach burned them up, for they
made litter.
Next to the Teach farm was bcautl-
full old place where Mrs. Hannah Allen
lived. She and the Beaches had bitter
quarrel over fence line, and If VIC
children ever got on her land we were
chased OF by ross o.d gardener. Her